


Of Maps and Shitty Diner Food

by joypendants



Category: Maggot Boy
Genre: M/M, hell yeah, roadtrip au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 08:30:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6366922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joypendants/pseuds/joypendants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summer-time is the best time for road-trips, especially when you have a beaten-up truck, an asshole for a best friend, and time to kill. </p><p>Or, the one where Owen and Davey go on a road-trip full of self-discovery, bad diner food, and creepy motels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wakey Wakey, Eggs and Bakey

**Author's Note:**

> i have no explanation for this other than im a sucker for road-trip aus and my fave ship is so rare i have to make all the content myself ngl

**** “Hey, asshole!” 

There was a groan from Davey’s end of the phone call when he heard a familiar voice. Blearily, an eye cracked open and he rolled over to stare at the luminous numbers on his clock.

Five in the _fucking_ _morning_. Of course. 

“Oh my God _,_ couldn’t’ve this waited ‘nother three hours? ’t _least?_ ” Davey’s voice was groggy with exhaustion –– he’d gone to bed not even two hours ago. (What the fuck a good sleep schedule was, he had never figured out.) 

What day was it, he idly wondered? Saturday. Of _course_ Owen calls at five on a Saturday. Who else would? No-one, that’s who. 

“No, because I’ve got good news!” Owen sounded _way_ too awake for this time, and Davey wondered if the redhead had even gone to bed yet. (Knowing Owen, he probably hadn’t.) “Listen, remember that idea we had a few months back? Y’know the one, right?” 

“…I don’t even know m’own name righ’ now.” A yawn punctures this sentence, as if to emphasize Davey’s point. 

“The road-trip, dumbass, try an’ keep up!” Owen retorted, and Davey could all but see the way that delicate brows furrowed, small face scrunching up in frustration. 

“…What road-trip.” 

“The one we talked about!” 

If Davey had the mental capacity at this point in time, he would be saying something along the lines of ‘ _What in God’s name are you going on about? You wake me up at some ungodly hour, rambling on about some bullshit road-trip, and I don’t know what’s happening right now. At least get the goddamn point!’_ However, given how Davey currently had the approximate mental capacity of a drugged-up frog, all that came out of his mouth was a simple “…Oh.” 

As Davey’s mind woke up, albeit slowly, he vaguely recalled what Owen was going on about. It was an idea that they’d mentioned in passing, since Davey had gotten his own truck. The thing was secondhand (though Davey was fairly certain it had gone through several more owners than that) and rather beat-up, but it was his. 

After he had gotten the vehicle, one of them had brought up the idea of them going on a road-trip once school got out for the summer –– a celebratory kind of thing, since Davey had graduated this year, and Owen was due to graduate rather soon himself. They both had some cash saved up (mostly from odd part-time jobs and babysitting), so it seemed that some manner of celebration was in order. 

“…Right. That thing.” Deciding that sleep was no longer going to happen, given how much energy Owen seemed to posses, Davey pushed himself upright, fumbling about until he found the switch for the lamp on his nightstand. “What about it?” 

“So, you know how I said I couldn’t do it this month ‘cause of family shit?” 

“…Yeah?” Davey leaned against the wall by his bed as he spoke, stifling a yawn and running a hand through tousled hair in some attempt to wake himself up. He figured he might as well get comfortable, since Owen had a tendency to ramble on and on and _on_ about things. 

“Okay, so, I was supposed to be busy as fuck for God knows how long, right? An’ so I thought we’d have to wait until _next_ month, when shit calmed down. But guess what happened?” And, without stopping to allow Davey to respond, Owen launched himself into a rather lengthy explanation of how things had changed for the better –– something about an aunt agreeing to look after some of his _many_ cousins. Davey didn’t really take all of it in, given how he was still somewhat dazed by sleep, but he simply just made sounds of agreement every so often, fighting the urge to doze off where he sat. 

“…And _that’s_ why I’m free to go on the trip with ya now!” There was a beat where Owen paused, presumably to breathe for the first time in minutes. “…Hey. Hey, Davey. Did ya fall asleep on me or some shit?” 

“Wh––” A yawn escapes the older boy, and he mentally shakes himself. “Nah, I’m awake.” And he was, albeit barely.

“Didja get all that?”

“…Yeah. You’re free t’go on a road-trip with me, right?” 

“Damn straight I am!” Owen sounded exuberant, and Davey could almost visualize Owen bouncing where he stood. “Oh, by the way, I’m outside your house. Lemme in.” 

“Of course y’er outside.” There was a beat of silence while Davey pushed himself upright and staggered to his bedroom door, pulling it open. “I’m comin’, I’m comin’,” he continued in rather hushed tones, so as to not wake his whole family. “Just gimme a sec, God.” 

A few moments later, the front door was pulled open, revealing Owen standing on Davey’s porch just as the sun was starting to rise. “Good morning!” Owen all but chirped, breezing past Davey and up the stairs. “You coming or what? Gotta get you packed!” 

As he closed the door and trailed after Owen back up the stairs, Davey idly wondered how many energy drinks Owen had drank before coming over. 

“Okay, so, I have no idea how long we’ll be gone––”

“Owen, _shhhh_.” A hand was pressed over Owen’s face, effectively muffling his voice. “Everyone else is _still asleep,_ because their dumbass friend didn’t wake them up at fuck o’clock in the goddamn morning,” Davey hissed, glowering at the redhead a moment before he kicked his bedroom door open. “Anyway, c’mon. Let’s get this shit over with.” The statement, however, lost all punch it might have had, courtesy of the gleam in Davey’s tired eyes. He was excited, despite how grumpy he might be acting –– he had been waiting for this for what felt like forever. 

Once the bedroom door had been closed, Owen began to ramble again. “Okay, so, who knows how long we’ll be gone, right? So, I had no idea how much we should pack. (That’s why I packed before I called you –– I wanted to get some idea of how much you should bring, yeah?) And I kinda assumed we can use, like, laundromats or whatever for cleaning our clothes if we gotta, an’––”

“How long have you been awake?” Davey interrupted, brow arching as he spoke. The energy that Owen seemed to be giving off could only last so long –– it was a familiar one that spoke of far too many energy drinks downed in much too short of a time. 

A wave of a hand was all he got in response before Owen launched himself into another lengthy explanation of what Davey should pack and why. It was almost amazing how much Owen could talk, honestly, before he needed to draw a breath –– and watching him talk was quite something. He was expressive, gesturing as he spoke, various expressions pulling at his features (a grimace here, a grin there), and sometimes the hand gestures he added looked as if they might all but knock his small figure over. 

“What’re you waiting for?” Owen finally said, nudging Davey with a foot from his perch atop Davey’s bed. “C’mon, asshole, get packin’! I wanna get on the road before it gets too late!” 

A sigh pulled itself from Davey’s chest from where he sat on the floor. “It’s not even six yet, Owen. It won’t be ‘too late’, trust me. Anyway, shouldn’t we tell our families? Or at least leave a note or somethin’?” While Davey might be impulsive, he was not stupid. He didn’t want to deal with any backlash that might come from this. While his family might know at least vaguely of his plans, he wasn’t entirely sure how well they would react to him just up and leaving at a moment’s notice. 

“I left a note for mine!” Owen responded, nudging Davey again with is foot. “It’s not a big deal. We could always call ‘em from the road, anyway. So, c’mon! Don’t get all _logical_ on me now, Mister ‘ _I-make-bad-decisions-for-a-livin’!_ Get your ass in gear!” 

With a groan, Davey pushed himself to his feet, beginning to grab articles of clothing at random and shove them into a backpack. “I swear to God, you are _so_ lucky I like you.” 

There came a snort from the redhead, who was currently sprawled out rather comfortably on Davey’s messy bed. “Yeah, yeah, whatever, asshole. Just get packed, wouldja? I wanna leaaaaave.” 

Fifteen minutes later Davey packed (this time adequately: Owen had made him take it all out and pack it _properly_ , ensuring that his luggage didn’t consist entirely of shirts and nothing else), and the duo heading down to the kitchen, Davey now dressed and looking somewhat more alive. 

“So, I figured we could grab somethin’ to eat in a few hours, right?” Owen was saying, hopping up onto the counter while Davey searched for a pen and some paper to leave a note (and, of course, make a pot of coffee) while he scribbled down an explanation of where they were going. “I mean, it’s kind of early now, and I’m not hungry yet, so, unless you are…”

“Okay,” Davey said, leaning against the counter beside the coffee pot, which was quietly doing its job, “so, we get on the road, get some food, an’ then what? Where should we head first?” 

Owen shrugged. “Anywhere, I guess? Let’s start from the next city over, maybe? I just wanna go! We can make it up as we go, right?” 

Davey snorted, shaking his head before he spoke, hands resting on the cold countertop. “I guess. I mean, we got a map, an’ our phones if anything goes wrong, so…” As he finished speaking, Davey grabbed a travel mug, cocking an eyebrow at Owen. “Y’want some coffee for the road, or…?” 

“What kinda question is that?” 

“…Right.” Davey grabbed another mug, and, after filling them both up, began searching for his keys. “I swear t’fucking God they move,” he mumbled, shoving his hands into jean pockets, glowering at his travel mug as if it had said something personally offensive. 

Two minutes and a lot of loud swearing (followed by a ‘shut up, Davey, you’re family is still sleeping, remember?!’), later Davey had found his keys and, bags in hand, the two were heading out to Davey’s car. 

“…Hey, Davey. We gotta stop by my house t’pick up my shit, okay?” Owen said, nudging the taller boy as he spoke. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Davey responded, throwing his things into the backseat of the truck. His luggage consisted of a backpack, a duffle bag, a single pillow, and a few blankets –– the latter of which were simply because he knew that Owen was going to get cold at some point. The shorter of the two seemed to lack any and all body-heat, which Davey knew from experience. (Owen’s hands were always _freezing.)_

Climbing into beat-up truck’s front seat, Davey cocked an eyebrow at Owen. “You getting in or y’just gonna stand there, tiny?” A grin toyed about Davey’s chapped lips. The old truck was rather high off the ground, and given how Owen was rather short (not quite five feet tall), it was always rather entertaining to see him struggle to get into the tall truck. 

“Oh my _God_ , shut up, would you?” Owen grumbled, pulling the passenger’s door open and, after a moment, he stood on his tiptoes and daintily placed his coffee mug atop the passengers seat before he took a step back and all but threw himself into the truck. (Davey was thoughtful enough to move the cup so it was not knocked over –– that would certainly be a way to start off their little adventure.) 

After a few seconds of struggling, the redhead was seated, a huff escaping his small form. “…I swear to God, get that dumbass grin off yer face,” Owen growled, still not looking at Davey, “or I am _so_ callin’ this stupid trip off.” 

Barely stifled laughter escaped Davey, and he started truck with one hand as the other fastened his seatbelt. Adjusting the rearview mirror, he pulled out of the driveway, head off towards Owen’s house. In the passenger’s seat, the redhead chattered on about something or another (Davey was only half-listening, nodding every so often to keep Owen happy). 

The world was quiet; no-one else seemed to be awake yet. The sun was still rising, and the luminous green number of the truck’s digital clock read that it was quarter to six; birds were flitting to and fro, and, on the drive to where Owen lived, they only passed a single lonely car going in the opposite direction. It was peaceful, as if the world was holding its breath, telling them _shh, it is time to rest, time to sleep._ However, the boys did not heed the earth’s message –– they had places to go and things to see. An adventure was about to start and their blood was humming, buzzing, with excitement that could be felt in their bones.

Twenty minutes –– and one stop at Owen’s house later –– found the two of them on their way out of well-known neighbourhoods and into familiar city streets. Breakfast called, and they answered.


	2. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) EGG

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where they get drunk and go stargazing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whOAAA BOY this took too long to write and it's waaaay too long. seems like the gayer the chapter, the longer it is!! anyway, enjoy! 
> 
> chapter title was supposed to be a joke, but it stuck lmao

Eggs were best served hot. Cold eggs were disgusting ––  _especially_ fried eggs gone cold. This, of course, is a universal truth; no-one likes it when their eggs are cold. They get jelly-like and taste like plastic, though no-one has ever been entirely sure as to why that is. Such is the magic of one of the staple foods of a solid breakfast; it can quickly transform from something delicious into what might as well be a wet plastic bag.

Cold eggs were a _sin_ , in Owen’s opinion, and that is why he was sitting there, just staring at the remnants of food on his plate –– namely, the eggs. 

Taking a break from scowling at the cold eggs like they had personally offended him, instead he shot an awed glance at Davey, staring at the him as he shovelled forkful after forkful of food into his mouth. “…You’re gonna choke,” Owen said, speaking rather mater-of-factly. 

“Am not.” Davey’s response was spoken around a mouthful of pancakes, and, as such, was somewhat muffled. “‘m just _hungry_ , okay? It’s, like, six in the morning. Gotta get my energy _somehow_. Not all of us can jus’ run on energy drinks and pure hatred, or whatever makes _you_ tick.” And with that, Davey took a swig of his coffee, grinning at Owen as he set the mug down. “Plus, who knows when we’ll get to a rest stop or gas station or whatever next! Gotta stock up, man.” 

Shaking his head, Owen went back to prodding at his eggs (now cold and disgusting, he complained internally), stifling a yawn. Apparently, lack of sleep was starting to catch up with him. One can only run on energy drinks and coffee for so long before they crash, after all –– and Owen was beginning to be running on fumes. “…We should get goin’ soon,” Owen said, barely holding back another yawn. “I mean, if you’re done stuffin’ your face, asshole.” Exhaustion seemed to weigh heavily on his tiny frame, tired blue eyes staring unblinkingly into his long-empty coffee mug.

Davey shrugged, gulping down the last of his own coffee as he did so. “You’re right, tiny. Let’s pay for this shit an’ hit the road, yeah?”

“I’ll pay,” Owen immediately offered, eager to get back on the road (and perhaps, if he was lucky, get some sleep too).

Five minutes later found Owen (attempting) to pay for the duo’s meal. Key word: _attempting_. It wasn’t going as smoothly as he had hoped for it to, in all honesty; once again, his rather childish features and small stature were being the bane of his very existence.

“Oh, hon, where are your parents? Shouldn’t they be paying for this?” The woman was, Owen was sure, very nice the majority of the time. She had the ‘Southern belle’ look about her, complete with the pleasant twang in her voice, but right now? Right now, she was getting under his skin in the quickest way possible. 

“…I’m paying for this,” Owen said, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “My parents aren’t _here_ right now. It’s just me and a friend.” 

“…Of course, hon. Could you get your, uh, friend for me, please?”

“ _I swear to fuckin’ God––”_ A deep breath was drawn, and Owen turned about, glancing around for his companion. “Daaaav _eeeeey!”_ Turning back to the woman (who was most _certainly_ a rather nice lady, when she wasn’t doing this), Owen folded his arms across his chest, an irritated look settling onto pale features. “He’s comin’.” Owen’s tone was reminiscent of a petulant child, complete with the pout and all, though there was as certain manner of a hidden smirk about his features as he took in the woman’s rather surprised expression.

Being petty had its perks. 

* * *

“…I still can’t believe you fuckin’ screamed for me across the diner like that, like _damn_. Of all things I was expecting? It wasn’t fuckin’ that, oh my _God_.” Mirth laced Davey’s words, his forehead resting on the steering wheel while his broad frame shook with laughter.

“Would you shut up?!” Owen snapped, his tone still dangerously reminiscent of a huffy child. “What else did you want me to do? She wasn’t letting me pay! She thought I was _too young_ or somethin’ to be paying on my own!”

“Christ, I dunno, but I _really_ wasn't expecting that. God, that was too good, too good––!”

“ _I_ can’t believe _you_ called me ‘kid’ and–– And ruffled my hair! Did you really have to do that?! Fuck, I _really_ hate you sometimes, did you know that?” 

It was a moment before Davey said anything, the older of the two trying to get himself under control before he responded, shoulders still shaking with laughter. “God, it was too damn good to pass up–– The look on your face; it was fuckin’ _priceless!_ I wish I’d gotten a picture or something, holy shit!” 

Owen dragged a hand down his face, groaning as he did so. “Would you shut up and drive, ya goddamn asshole?!” 

Laughter still wracking his form, Davey turned the key in the ignition, the truck roaring to life as the engine caught. “Fine, fine… _kid_.” 

“Call me that one more fuckin’ time, I fucking _dare_ you,” Owen grumbled, though his challenge was punctuated by a wide yawn, making it far less effective than it might have been otherwise. 

“Yeah, sure, whatever y’say, tiny,” Davey responded, sounding rather unconvinced of the actual weight that this threat carried.

Pulling out of the diner’s parking lot, Davey eased the car onto the road, glancing at Owen (who was currently curled up in the passenger’s seat) as he did so. “…Anyway, you look tired, dude,” Davey commented, head tilting to the side a bit. If his hunch was correct, Owen hadn’t slept yet. This would not be a new development: God only knows how skewed Owen’s sleep schedule was. If one were to text him at any hour of the night, despite how ungodly it might be, there was a fairly high chance that he would respond. (If he didn’t–– Well, that wasn’t always an indicator of whether or not he was asleep. He might just be ignoring you.) 

“Mm.” The slight hum was the only response that Davey got, which was no surprise. Owen looked to be half-asleep already, eyes half-lidded and exhaustion weighing heavily on his small frame. He looked just about ready to doze off, slowly blinking in the early morning light. The gesture reminded Davey of a relaxed cat, which was no surprise. Owen had always reminded him of a cat in his behaviours. 

Stopping at a red light not even ten minutes later, Davey turned to say something to Owen, only to find that his companion had already fallen asleep, curled up in the passenger’s seat (again, the action quite reminiscent of a cat). Of _course_. Sighing, Davey reached into the back seat of the truck, groping around for a moment until he found what he was looking for: a blanket (well-worn and faded) that he had brought just for such an occasion. No, not for just _this_ occasion, of course, he corrected himself; it was for when either one of them dozed off. 

Still, he knew that Owen got cold easily; the younger boy always seemed to be freezing to the touch, no matter how warm the day. Shifting around (and casting a glance at the stop light –– still red, he had a few more moments), Davey carefully draped the blanket over Owen, tucking around his small form so that it wouldn’t slide off. After a second’s hesitation, calloused fingers gently brushed stray red hair out of Owen’s face, tucking the long fringe behind the other boy’s ear. It was a small gesture, easily dismissed, but as the early morning sunlight streamed through the windshield, casting golden-pink light onto Owen’s pale features, which were relaxed by sleep. A warm feeling that Davey couldn’t quite put a name to settled itself into his chest as he gazed at Owen. …Owen was––

A horn honked, snapping Davey back to the present. Right. The light had changed. The moment had passed, and Davey, placing both hands back on the steering wheel, teeth worrying his lower lip, started to drive again, doing his best to not think too hard about what had just happened. It was nothing. It was nothing at all. It was just…lack of sleep, that’s what it was. He was just tired, and, once Owen woke up and they switched places, he could take a nap and it’d all go away. Everything was normal. 

…It was just that the way Owen had looked in the warm sunlight was–– It was something, something soft that made Davey’s heart skip a beat, but that was just the tiredness talking, of course. What else could it be? 

Several hours passed in easy quietness, Owen napping beside Davey in the passenger’s seat as the sun rose higher into the sky. By now, the two of them were outside the city limits, heading off down a highway. The radio was on (albeit rather low out of courtesy for the napping redhead), a quiet background noise that accompanied by the hum of the engine and the sound of tires on pavement. It was nice, really, a quiet lull for Davey to lose himself in as the truck raced down a lonely stretch of highway, passing other cars every so often, surrounded by nothing but pavement and the bright sky (nearly cloudless as noon approached) and the promise of something greater. 

Davey was suddenly filled by the reality of it all –– they were off to God-knows-where, nothing but what was in the car with them and a desire to _be_. They were going to live, to experience, and, above all else, they were going to simply _be._

There was the quiet _shhhhft_ of rustling fabric in the seat next to him as Owen stirred, finally awakening from his much-needed nap. There came a yawn, a stretch of pale arms, and Owen pushed himself upright rather blearily, groping around for a moment to pull the blanket tighter about his form. Despite the warmth of the day, Owen somehow _still_ managed to be cold. 

“Good morning, tiny,” Davey said, voice cheerful. “We’re headed to a gas station t’pick up some food and coffee or somethin’. Sound good?” 

Tiredly, Owen rubbed at his face, blinking slowly as he attempted to re-understand the world, hazy blue eyes glancing about his surroundings (messy truck, smeared window, a blur of green as some trees were swallowed up by empty space). “Where are we?” he finally asked, staring out the window, taking in the world as it sped by. 

“Uh, still one some highway outta the city. Have been for the past…four, five hours or so, yeah. I’ve been getting pretty tired” –– and here, his words were punctuated by a barely stifled yawn –– “so I was thinkin’ after we stop to grab some food an’ coffee that we could switch, y’know? You could have a go driving.” 

Owen nodded slowly, still looking quite half-asleep. “…’kay,” he finally responded, stretching rather lazily again as he spoke. “––It’s gonna look kinda funny, me driving your huge-ass truck, though.” 

This was true: Owen, barely five feet tall (and that was being somewhat generous), driving Davey’s oversized pick-up truck was most certainly a sight to see. He could barely climb into it, so far was it off the ground, so the idea of him driving the truck was almost laughable in theory. However, in practice, it had happened before, so there was really no worry about whether or not he could do so. He simply had to crank the seat up rather high so that he could see out the windshield, which often resulted in Davey banging his knees up rather badly when he went to get into the driver’s seat after Owen. (This had been the subject of them bickering for quite some time now.) 

“…Yeah, it is,” Davey agreed all the same, though his tone took on a teasing nature. “It always looks like a toddler’s drivin’ when you do.” An easy grin spread across tanned features, Davey shooting a teasing look at the still half-asleep Owen. “I mean, you’re so tiny––”

“I’m gonna have t’stop you right there,” Owen interrupted, frowning –– though the expression looked dangerously similar to a childish pout –– at Davey. “ _Shhh_. Stop talking.” 

Barely contained laughter (not even barely contained; said laughter was only slightly muffled) shook broad shoulders, and Davey grinned, blue eyes moving from the road for a brief moment to catch Owen’s gaze. “Fine, _fine_ , whatever y’say, tiny.” 

Half an hour later found the duo turning off the highway and into a small gas station parking lot. The building itself was not much to look at, rather old and weather-worn, and the gas bar was home to only two pumps. 

“‘kay,” Davey began, pulling up next to one of the pumps, “I’m gonna refill the truck. Y’can go in and grab us some coffee and food or whatever. Sound good?” Looking slightly more awake now, Owen nodded. “And, uh, I hope they let you pay this time.” A teasing tone touched his voice, and Davey nudged the redhead as he spoke. “‘Cause as entertaining as that was––”

“Oh my _God_ , shut up, you piece of shit!” Owen snapped, removing the blanket he had wrapped about himself to shove the passenger door open. “Just––  _God_ , why do I put up with you?!” Turning, Owen threw the blanket at Davey before he hopped out of the truck, hitting the ground with a quiet _thud._

Snickering, Davey caught the blanket, and, placing it beside him turned. the truck off. Pulling the key from the ignition, he popped the gas-tank cover and stepped out into the warm, late-morning light. 

Pumping gas into the truck, Davey idly glanced into the gas station window, eyes quickly landing on familiar flaming red hair. A small smile curved chapped lips; of course Owen could only be barely seen over the tops of shelves, just a little flash of red bobbing along by the coffee machines. 

A familiar _click_ caught Davey’s attention as the gas pump caught, letting him know that his tank was full. A sigh pulled itself from his lips as he stared at the price that glared down at him from the pump–– Of _course_ it was going to cost an arm and a leg. He wasn’t surprised in the slightest. 

Putting the nozzle back and closing the gas-tank cover, Davey moved around the side of the truck to wander into the little store to pay for his gas. Of course this pump didn’t do it all electronically; the place had a rather rustic look (and feel) about it, and, as such, he wasn’t entirely shocked. The entire place looked to be _ancient,_ in his opinion, probably there as long as the trees. 

Owen was paying for his own purchases (a couple bags of chips, some chocolate, several energy drinks and sodas, as well as some assorted other snacks) when Davey went inside the tiny store. However, upon doing so, the redhead didn’t immediately head out to the truck like Davey expected him to. Instead, he wandered about the store a little longer, staring at this and that –– or so Davey guessed. He was rather preoccupied with the amount of cash that he was having to pay for the gas. (Why did it even _cost_ so much?!) At least the shop seemed to be a little more up-to-date, allowing him to pay with his debit card. 

A few moments –– and far too much money later –– Davey headed back outside, Owen trailing along behind him with a bag on his arm and coffee precariously balanced in one hand. The door slowly closing behind them with a squeak, Davey paused, turning to look at Owen a moment. A tiny breeze whispered by, stirring its way through the otherwise still air, and Davey, noticing how much trouble Owen seemed to be having carrying everything, let out a tiny huff of laughter. 

“…Okay, not that I don’t trust your _amazing_ balancing skills, shortstack, but I’m takin’ my coffee from you, thank you very much,” Davey said, plucking aforementioned beverage from where it was balanced atop of Owen’s own drink. “Anyway, let’s ge–– …Okay, what did you do?”

As Davey had been speaking, Owen had been fidgeting slightly, a rather impish look gracing pale features. “What?” asked the redhead, tone all but _oozing_ with innocence. “I didn’t _do_ anything!” This, of course, would have been far more convincing if one hand hadn’t been hidden behind his back, and if he had _ever_ been able to lie to Davey (which, for the record, he had never been able to. They lied in too similar a fashion). 

“…Sure y’didn’t, you little shit,” Davey retorted, blue eyes rolling skywards. “C’mon, ‘fess up, what’d you do?” 

Grinning, Owen pulled his other hand into sight, exposing two large bottles of cheap gas station wine. “Surpriiii- _iiiiise!”_

Davey stared at the bottles for a second before his gaze flickered to Owen, disbelief colouring his voice. “…Oh my _God_ , Owen, you do realize we only have so much money, right?!” 

“It didn’t cost _that_ much,” Owen insisted, impish grin curving pink lips. “And it’ll be worth it, trust me?” That said, the smaller boy sauntered past Davey, shoving the bag (and alcohol) into Davey’s hands as he did so. “Anyway, let’s go, dummy, we don’t have all day!” 

Groaning, Davey trailed along after his companion, shaking his head. “Really, though, how much did this _cost?!”_ he demanded, scowling at Owen. “You know we don’t have that much money, right?” Stopping by the truck, Davey stood before Owen, seemingly towering over the shorter boy. 

“Okay, okay, calm down, I swear it really didn’t cost _thaaaaaaat_ much!”

“Gimme a number.” 

“Uh, zero?” Owen’s tone was impish, blue eyes shining with a hidden mirth. 

“Ze–– _Zero_?! You’re telling me this was _free?!”_ Davey’s tone was incredulous as he stared down at Owen, thick brows knitting together in confusion. This didn’t make sense; how could––?

_Oh._

“…You stole this,” Davey stated, finally putting the pieces together. “Damnit Owen, I swear to God––”

Owen shrugged. “It’s shitty alcohol; really, who wasn’t to pay for it? Plus, it’s _waaaaay_ over-priced!” His tone was somewhat sing-song in its nature as an open hand was presented to Davey, grin still adorning his features. “ _Any_ way, keys, please? You said you wanted me to drive for a while.” 

Grumbling, Davey rummaged in his pocket for a moment, carefully balancing his coffee as he did so, and handed the keys to Owen. “Let’s get this show on the road, I _guess._ ” That said, Davey walked around the car and clambered into the passenger’s seat, setting the bag of snacks (and the stolen bottles of wine) on the floor by his feet.

The next few hours on the highway was passed in easy companionship, snacks, and off-key singing (courtesy of shitty pop songs on the radio and Davey being far too exuberant to relax and actually sleep like he had planned to). The day, having felt far longer than it actually was for Davey, had turned into a bright and warm late afternoon –– the kind where it seems to be a crime to drive with the windows up. As such, the truck was now filled with warm summer air as they rushed down the highway, Davey with his feet on the dash and Owen humming along to whatever the radio happened to be playing at this point in time. It was nice –– it felt almost like home.

“…Hey, Davey, hand me a drink or somethin’, would you?” Owen asked, gesturing to the bag on the floor. “‘m thirsty.” 

Idly, Davey reached down, blindly groping around until fingers brushed against the plastic bag. Tossing a soda at Owen (who yelped, but managed to catch the can and pop it open _without_ crashing the truck), Davey went to set the bag back down. However, it clinked against something.

What was that? 

Ah, right. The wine.

Grinning, Davey grabbed one of the bottles, teeth digging into the cork to pull it free with a loud _pop_ so he could take a long drink straight from the bottle. It was rather disgusting, as one might expect from cheap liquor found in a gas station. It was somewhat bitter, and had a rather odd aftertaste, but hey. It was alcohol, and tasted _marginally_ better than he had expected it to.

“What’re you doing?” Owen asked, glancing at Davey, soda held in one hand, the other resting on the steering wheel. “…Wait, hey, I stole that! Share!” 

“Nuh-huh, you’re driving,” Davey retorted. “Like, sure, you’re _hardcore_ ‘cause you stole some liquor, but dude, I ain’t having you crash my fuckin’ truck. If you can find a spot that _isn’t_ the side of the road to pull over an’ get drunk, I’m down, but until then…” Davey shrugged, grinning as he did so. “I’m gonna drink this entire bottle myself.” And, as if to emphasize his point, Davey took another swig from the bottle, shooting Owen a lopsided grin. 

It was amazing how quickly Owen managed to find a spot that seemed like it would do for their purposes: it was a nature park of sorts that was not too far off the highway and was open to the public, free of charge. It was the perfect spot for them to take a break as the late afternoon gave ‘way to the evening, and the duo was starting to grow tired of travelling. 

“…Okay, that was faster than I thought it was gonna be,” Davey admitted, staring at the bottle he held in his hand. “I didn’t even ge’, like, a quarter of the way through it, damn.” 

Owen snorted, holding out his hand. “Good! Now, c’mon, share–– I didn’t steal that just for _you_ to drink all of it, y’know!” 

Sighing dramatically, Davey handed Owen the bottle, popping the passenger door open as he did so. “Okay, okay, but it’s really damn cramped in the truck. I’m gonna throw some o’ the blankets and shit onto the ‘bed and hang out back there, yeah?” 

That said, Davey leaned back into truck, groping around for a moment. The backseat of the truck was rather crowded with bags and assorted objects, making it a bit of an ordeal to find anything that one might be looking for –– but after a moment of struggling (with no help from Owen, mind you), Davey pulled out several blankets, as well as a couple of pillows, which were promptly tossed rather haphazardly into the bed of the truck. 

Reaching down to grab the second bottle of wine, Davey wandered around to the back of the truck, where he was met by Owen simply standing rather huffily beside the vehicle. “…Y’doing okay there, tiny?” Davey asked, dark brow arching. 

“…I’m _fine_ ,” Owen retorted, taking a drink from the bottle he currently held. “Just––  _God_ , why is your truck so fuckin’ far off the ground, honestly?!” 

There was a moment where Davey simply stared at Owen before he burst into laughter, shaking his head. “You can’t get up, can you? God, I always forget how _short_ you are.”

“I can! I just––”

“Look, do ya want a hand up or not?” Davey interrupted, grinning as he spoke. “‘Cause I’m always happy to give you a hand.” Without waiting for an answer, Davey simply scooped up the smaller boy bridal style, eliciting a yelp from the redhead, and deposited him rather unceremoniously onto the mess of blankets and pillows. (Miraculously, the bottle that Owen currently held only spilled a little bit.) “There y’go! Much better than trying to fuckin’ scale the truck or some shit.” 

“I hate you _so goddamn much_ ,” Owen snapped, glowering at Davey as he spoke. “Fucking rude-ass piece of shit––”

“Yeah, yeah, love you too,” Davey responded with his signature lopsided grin, clambering onto the bed of the truck as he spoke. “You’re _very_ welcome for all that help. Saved your dignity. …Kinda.” 

“Like hell you did,” Owen grumbled, clutching the wine bottle to his chest. “I hate you _so_ much. Why do I put up with you––” 

“Mhm, of course you hate me,” Davey said, muffled laughter lacing his words. “Now, c’mon, share that, or else I’m gonna have to drink the other one all by myself!” 

Dusk fell, and the duo, now suitably tipsy, lay in a mess of blankets and pillows, talking in rather hushed tones, as if they were afraid to break the relative silence that hung over the area in which they were parked. The only sound, aside from theirmuted tones, was the chirp of crickets and the hum of insects that lazily drifted by, carried by tiny gusts of wind that stirred overgrown grass. 

They were sprawled out on the back of the truck, staring up at the slowly darkening sky, a partially bottle of wine held loosely in Owen’s hand, and the other bottle (now empty) leaning against the side of the truck’s bed. Davey was using one arm to pillow his head, the other flung out to the side. Owen, occasionally taking a sip from the bottle he held, was curled up by Davey’s side, looking rather content as he stared up at the cloudless sky. 

“…So, tomorrow, I think if we keep headin’ the way we’re going, we’ll get to a small town,” Davey said, tone warm and easy. “Could check into a motel or somethin’, go exploring, I ‘unno. Definitely pick up some _real_ food. Chips an’ shit only get y’so far.” 

Owen nodded, resting his head on Davey’s arm. “Mm, sounds good,” he responded absently, blinking slowly. “…Hey, Davey, can we stay out here a while? ’t’s nice.” 

Davey laughed. “I mean, I didn’t plan on drivin’ like this. I ain’t…I ain’t entirely, uh, sober, and neither are you. So, yeah, let’s just stay out here a bit. Watch the stars or somethin’. Can’t seem ‘em in the city, so…” His voice trailed off, and Davey shrugged (albeit awkwardly, given the position that he was currently lying in). 

“…God, that was like something from a shitty romcom,” Owen remarked, nudging Davey as he spoke. “Goin’ all corny on me?”

“Shut up, asshole.” 

Quiet talk (and good-natured bickering) filled the evening air, mixing with the sound of crickets and the wind rustling nearby trees, racing its way through the overlong grass. It was idyllic, seemingly almost too perfect to be true. The only nuisance was the occasional fly that buzzed too close, or a breeze that was just a tad too chilly. The stars began to come out, one by one, twinkling into existence as the sky grew ever darker. 

“…You were right,” Owen commented some time later, voice rather slurred from the wine. “You c’n see th’stars _sooo_ much better out here.” He was still curled up next to Davey, who, as Owen spoke, was finishing off the last of the wine. 

A quiet hum was the only response Owen got, though the sound was followed by a quiet movement, a rustle of fabric, and the _clink_ of the bottle being put down on the metal bed of the truck. After a moment, Davey shifted his position again, arm curling about Owen, almost unconsciously pulling the shorter boy closer. 

They were a mess, a tangle of limbs and hair, all cushioned by the mixture of blankets and pillows they had thrown into some kind of haphazard ‘nest’. It was a comfortable manner of chaos, something easy and familiar in their liquor-soaked minds. The closeness did not bother them; instead, it was soothing. 

“––They’re pretty,” Owen mumbled, staring up at the star-speckled sky. 

“…Yeah,” Davey responded quietly, though his gaze was not directed at the sky. Instead, he was looking at Owen, taking in familiar pale features that he could just make out in the dim light of the early night. The feeling was there again–– The same one he had gotten in the car when the sun had struck Owen just right, painting him all golden and warm in the morning light. It was a warm feeling, deep in his chest, a sensation that he didn’t want to put a name to, but, at the same time, couldn’t ignore (despite how much he might try). 

A quiet shifting caught his attention, Owen pressing himself closer to Davey’s torso, curling up against him to rest his head on Davey’s chest. A small breath of contentment (smelling of cheap booze) left the redhead, and Davey idly ran calloused fingers through the other boy’s thick hair. It was a quiet moment, something peaceful –– it felt like… It felt like… 

It felt almost like home. That was the sensation. It felt _right,_ the two of them here, laying in the bed of Davey’s truck, staring up at the endless night-sky (speckled with million little pinpoints of light). It was as if everything was right in the world, as if everything had led up to this point. They were right where they were supposed to be, a tangled mess of tired limbs and slow breaths, lying atop worn-out blankets and flat pillows. It was _right_. 

Owen nuzzled closer to Davey, the tired and drunken haze making the smaller boy hide his face in Davey’s shoulder. “…’m tired,” Owen all but muttered, voice muffled and barely audible. 

“So’m I,” came Davey’s lazy response, seemingly too loud for the quiet night. “Le’s… Le’s just take a nap…for a li’l while.” His voice was vaguely slurred, alcohol having made itself quite at home in his bloodstream. “We c’n… Yeah, let’s jus’…” His voice trailed off, silence taking over. 

Owen, naturally, had already dozed off, face hidden in Davey’s shoulder and arms wrapped about Davey’s torso. There was something comfortable about the way he fit into the taller boy’s arms –– it was _nice,_ not that Davey would ever admit to that while sober. Still, it was nice, for lack of a better word, Davey thought, though his mind was hazy from both exhaustion and cheap booze. His eyelids were feeling heavy, every blink taking slightly longer than the one before it –– and, without much of a struggle, Davey was pulled down into the hazy, dreamless sleep that alcohol offered him. 


End file.
